Barkhorn Goes Berserk
by TirOrah
Summary: Flight Lieutenant Gertrud Barkhorn assembles a group of new recruits for "survival training." Carnage ensues.


Hello, and Happy New Year! I've been gone a long while, but at least I made good on my New Year's resolution of actually finishing something in 2016! This is the first Strike Witches fic idea I had, so it seems fitting it was finished first.

So what is this? Well, in my (admittedly short) time as a Strike Witches fan, I've read many other fanfics, and although I enjoyed most of them, there were a number of them that repeatedly irritated me due to…certain tropes and conventions, shall we say. Thus, this fic was born to satiate all of my venting needs in one convenient little package.

It needs to be emphasized that this was not written with any kind of seriousness in mind, and deviates from realism at times. None of this is intended as a slight against the characters involved or anyone else either, just me having some vindictive fun.

And oh, what fun it was! I haven't ever laughed this much when writing something. Although I may have let myself run wild and gone a little overboard. Just a little.

Disclaimer: Strike Witches is the legal property of Shimada Humikane. I write fanfiction to pay homage to the source material and promote awareness of its existence. And for fun. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Folkestone, 501st Joint Fighter Wing base.

On the air field, facing the hangar, stood the best and brightest Witches and Wizards from around the globe, at attention and ready for evaluation. Arranged in a neat, orderly row, these ten recruits were the very picture of military potential and diligence…except for the soft murmurs of worry exchanged between them.

"This base is too quiet. Where are the rest of the personnel?"

While there was an army truck, a military personnel car, and some supply crates around, the hangar was closed, and the grounds seemed strangely devoid of people. The new members were understandably confused.

"I thought the entire squadron was supposed to welcome us."

They'd all received orders to assemble here via cargo plane, but as of yet, no one had appeared to welcome them.

"…And why is there a Striker unit set up in front of us?"

At that, they all eyed the thing in front of them warily. The launch unit was already fully operational when they arrived, with a Striker held in place in its steel clamps. Was there going to be a flight demonstration?

Suddenly, loud, metallic footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs at the back of the launch platform. All of the recruits stiffened, their chatter grinding to an abrupt halt, as they watched a young woman holding a clipboard climb to the top of the platform.

Snapping a salute, which they returned, she scanned each and every one of them silently. It gave them ample time to see the hard edge in her light brown eyes; the perfect complement to her stern visage and rigid stance. There was no question this was a woman of authority.

"Name, rank and country, starting from my left!" she barked in accented Britannian, startling a few of them.

It took them a couple of moments to regain their composure, but the roll call was finished in a matter of minutes. She checked off each name on her clipboard when it was called out, rereading their files as she did.

 _So they're all here. Good._

With that done, she placed her clipboard on the metal shell covering the launch platform's engine on her left, then clasped her hands behind her back.

"I am Flight Lieutenant Gertrud Barkhorn, and on behalf of the 501st Joint Fighter Wing, I bid you all welcome," she said, her low voice projecting a presence greater than the sum of its parts. "I've assembled you here today for a test of skill. You will be performing a survival drill under stressful circumstances."

That certainly got the men and women in front of Gertrud in a tizzy. A cacophony of protests and murmurs filled the air. Her frown became more severe and she growled in warning.

"Silence!" The enlistees did so, some looking guilty while others just appeared uncertain. "This is the military. If you can't follow orders, you do not belong here. Is that understood?"

"Ma'am!" Gertrud looked at a man in his early thirties. Muscular, fit and stubborn. Oh yes, she remembered his profile.

"Yes?"

"We were told there would be an induction ceremony today…" He trailed off in uncertainty. But Gertrud nodded.

"You heard correctly; this is your induction. If you want to fight on the front lines, you must be able to pull your weight. Any other questions?" The recruits still seemed worried, but none of them said a word.

Satisfied, Gertrud kicked off her boots and jumped into her Striker in one smooth movement. As her legs disappeared into the machine, two floppy dog ears popped out of her brown hair and a bushy tail emerged from just under her uniform, both a greyish brown in color. A thin film of blue light coated her skin, glowing brighter and brighter.

The liquid-cooled Fw190D roared to life immediately, the hum of the radiator drowned out by the whirring of the magic-fueled propellers. An activation circle formed under her Striker, while a powerful wind buffeted the stunned crew before her and caused her twin tails to flutter wildly.

The launch pad's right compartment opened up at the front as well as the top, revealing her weaponry. Standing out amongst the gear was a dark green behemoth of a machine. It had small wings extending from the back, supposedly to stabilize it during flight, and exterior tubes connected the main body with a smaller tank at the left side, as well as a long barrel at the top. The recruits openly gawked at the thing, both terrified and intrigued by this mysterious contraption. Gertrud lifted it like it was nothing and slung it over her shoulders before buckling up the belt at her waist.

She then grabbed two anti-tank Panzerfausts, which she attached at the back of the shoulder straps. Finally, she took out her trademark twin MG42 machine guns, keeping the slings free as she often did. Strictly speaking, she was supposed to put the slings on and use her shoulders to absorb the recoil, but she was strong enough to keep her guns steady without such assistance. It also left her free to use the guns as makeshift clubs if needed. It paid to be prepared for any situation.

"Um, p-permission to speak, ma'am?" a girl near the end of the row asked, struggling to be heard over the Striker.

"Granted," Gertrud's voice was stern as she checked her gear.

"Where's our equipment?"

" _You_ are your equipment. Today's exercise will involve nothing more than your wit and discipline. To this end, I've stripped you of your personal possessions. I will take to the skies and attempt to bring you down in any way I see fit. Meanwhile, all of you will scramble; utilize any means necessary in order to ensure your survival."

Finished with her inspections, Gertrud looked at them once more, her eyes alight with a fire that hadn't been present previously. One recruit visibly swallowed when she hefted her machine guns for emphasis.

"And I'll be using real bullets, so put your backs into it!"

She saw their eyes widen and faces pale in response, but she kept her expression neutral. However, one man's face turned to anger and he clenched his fists.

"You can't do that!" Gertrud's blazing orbs immediately snapped to him. It was the recruit who had spoken up earlier. "You can't use live rounds; they're supposed to be fired at Neuroi only. And some of us might be injured in the process!"

"Officer Cadet, hold your tongue before I have you disciplined for speaking out of turn," Gertrud's voice ran both hot and cold with palpable killing intent. Although she hadn't launched yet, she was ready for battle.

The man huffed and shrugged his shoulders in defiance. "You think that scares me? Big deal!" He puffed up his chest a little and smirked. "You can't kill me! With my magic, your bullets won't even—"

He was cut off by seven rounds biting into his chest and three more landing in his head, killing him instantly. The kinetic force knocked him off his feet and threw him to the tarmac with a heavy thud, blood pooling beneath his motionless body.

As one, the remaining recruits looked at the corpse in shock, then at the smoking barrel of the MG42 in Gertrud's right hand.

"I'm fully aware that some of you rely on special magic or equipment to function in combat. To keep this test fair, I've taken the liberty to set up a field that blocks your magic as well as any other abilities you would ordinarily depend on," Gertrud said matter-of-factly. She seemed unfazed by the gory development in front of her.

The mousy girl standing to the body's left wasn't quite as composed.

"How c-could… You m-murdered him!"

She yelped and ducked her head, expecting another burst of gunfire. When it didn't come, she cautiously raised her head. Gertrud didn't move to shoot her; instead, she lowered her MG42s and revved the engines of her Striker, leaning forward. The glowing rune on the ground started to expand.

"Initiating survival training."

The cries of alarm from the more unsettled enlistees went ignored as she leaned forward. In response, the launch unit rumbled and relinquished its grip on her Striker with an electric crackle.

She sped forward immediately. The recruits unfortunate enough to be in her path were forced to scamper out of the way, uttering surprised curses and shouts all the while. She took off down the runway at full throttle, reaching flight capable speeds in a matter of seconds. As she soared into the air, the Witches and Wizards left behind just stared at her receding form.

"Do you think she'll really shoot at us?" the mousy girl whimpered.

Up above, Gertrud made a sharp turn and started to descend upon them.

"She wouldn't…she couldn't!" another said weakly, the morning sun reflecting off his glasses. "Protocol dictates…"

As if suddenly reminded of an unfortunate, recent event, they all glanced at the body of their dead colleague.

"Oh gods, she's going to kill us!"

Shock finally giving way to panic, the nine remaining enlistees spread out, some of them already screaming in terror.

* * *

Meanwhile, Squadron Leader Sakamoto Mio and Wing Commander Minna-Dietlinde Wilcke were enjoying a hot cup of coffee in Minna's office.

They were silent as they stood at the window, side by side, observing today's proceedings. Mio briefly glanced at Minna; the redhead seemed to be deep in thought, her brow slightly furrowed, a calculating look in her eyes. It was the look of a woman working out the hit to an already strained budget. Mio winced internally; she wasn't too skilled with numbers—she was a warrior through-and-through—but even she knew this wasn't going to end well for them.

She took another sip of her coffee, and couldn't help but twitch at the brew's overwhelmingly bitter taste. She preferred tea to begin with, and the fact it was Minna's most concentrated blend to date didn't help matters. But when Minna informed her of Barkhorn's plans to "test" their new members, she instantly knew she'd need something to help her through the inevitable headache this day would give her. She just hoped that Minna's extra strong coffee would be enough.

She turned her gaze back to the tarmac down below, just in time to see Barkhorn gun down a recruit on the spot. Both of them flinched at this unprecedented act of brutality. Next to her, Minna finally broke the silence by letting out a heavy sigh.

"I still believe we should have put her in confinement."

Mio shook her head ruefully. "You know that wouldn't have worked."

It was an unfortunate side effect of Barkhorn's magic; her superhuman strength allowed the woman to brute-force her way out of, or through, almost everything they could throw at her. Short of sedating, electrocuting or shooting her, there was very little they could do to stop her.

These traits were a boon when Barkhorn was her usual, rule-abiding self, but now she was a loose cannon, and there was no contingency plan in place. They both deeply regretted that fact. All they'd been able to do was evacuate the non-Witch personnel. That would at least limit the number of casualties today.

They watched their errant subordinate launch and nearly bowl over some of the enlistees. Once she was airborne and turned tightly to start an attack run, the people in her sights finally started to run. Mio knew it was too late, though. Barkhorn was swooping down on them like a hawk, moving fast, and not for the first time, Mio wondered just what was driving the Karlslander ace to such deplorable behavior.

* * *

Gertrud was coming into effective firing range of her targets and narrowed her eyes in concentration. Even as she adjusted her flight trajectory so as to claim her second kill, her mind was processing the locations of the other eight and cataloguing it for future passes. She was a veteran, and with that came experience; years of training had honed her situational awareness to a razor's edge. It was one of her strong suits, and she intended to make use of it to the fullest.

She raised her MG42s and took aim at her first mark: the least qualified recruit.

Targeting the small fry first wasn't her usual style. Her skill and high firepower usually placed her at the front of the formation, going toe-to-toe with the largest, toughest Neuroi in sight, so she'd automatically planned to take out the best enlistee first. But this recruit was clumsy, and slower than the others; it was pure happenstance that this one had even made it into a Wing as prestigious as the 501st.

And it showed. She'd hesitated, causing the others to leave her behind, and Gertrud was going to take full advantage of it. Picking off stragglers was a viable strategy after all, and she was nothing if not efficient.

The mousy girl came into her crosshairs and she pulled both triggers. The reaction was immediate: the guns roared to life with their distinctive buzzsaw sound and spewed a rain of metal upon her hapless target, spraying into the tarmac only a short distance away from their intended destination.

She adjusted her aim slightly, unaffected by the rapid muzzle flashes or the constant recoil that resulted from firing twenty rounds per second. The bullets rapidly moved closer and hit, perforating limb and torso alike. The girl dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, dead, just as Gertrud passed overhead and pulled up to avoid crashing into the base.

 _Two down, eight to go._

She circled around to maneuver into position for her next attack run, analyzing the battlefield as she did so. Many of the enlistees were trying to get inside the hangar, but she'd made sure everything was locked down before their scheduled arrival, so she would leave them to that for now. Another was about to take refuge behind some supply crates—or possibly trying to climb into them—so she could wait in picking off that one as well.

But one person piqued her interest. A ways away from the others, one of the more experienced participants had just jumped into the back of the army truck. The ace let the corner of her mouth hook up into a vicious grin, a wicked expression that seemed alien on her usually collected face.

 _Perfect._

Using the sling, she let her left-hand weapon rest under her arm and gripped the warhead on her shoulder.

* * *

Adrenaline ran rampant through the enlistee's veins, but her breathing was steady; years of war had given her nerves of steel. As a soldier, she was used to being in life-or-death situations, and she'd be damned if she was going to let some crazy bitch with an itchy trigger finger do her in. But she'd need a plan if she was to live through this. The aerodrome was nothing but an open field, and staying out there would be practically inviting a burst of gunfire to the face.

That was why she'd dashed for the truck at the far side of the air field. If there was anything in this blasted hellhole that could give her a fighting chance, odds are it'd be located in this cargo. Jumping up, she managed to clear the loading bay in one magnificent leap and tumbled through the cloth covering into the back of the truck. As she rolled to a stop in the darkness, the woman allowed herself to smirk.

"Heh, magic or no, I'm still the best. You're not taking me down so easily!"

She lifted her head and scrambled to her feet, scanning the load. But when her eyes adjusted to the dark, she was flabbergasted. What greeted her wasn't the weapon she'd hoped for. In fact, what she saw was something she couldn't even throw at that blasted woman.

It was gunpowder. Lots and lots of it, packed tightly and grouped together in a veritable wall of conveniently marked, wooden crates.

The soldier cursed loudly. Was this a trap?

As if on cue, something rammed into the ceiling of the truck. Whatever it was pierced the steel roof with ease and detonated. As if that wasn't enough, the heat from the blast licked at the wooden boxes, setting off the explosives inside.

* * *

Gertrud's eyes glittered with gratification as the truck exploded in a burst of fire and smoke, making the base's nearby walls shudder under the concussive force and cracking the nearby second floor windows. Flying a little lower, she reduced her speed and raised her right MG42, peppering the blast site with some rounds just in case. It wouldn't do to have the mark slip away after the effort she'd invested into setting that one up.

She circled around after that, hovering menacingly over the battlefield of her making. Due to the smoke curling into the sky, searching for a target was proving to be slightly more difficult than before. But it wasn't long before her sharp eyes caught sight of a lone figure making a break for one of the walls, eyeing the cracked windows above.

Without hesitation, she accelerated enough to get into a firing position and let fly, aiming for the boy's head. He suddenly dove to the side, causing her to miss, and the soldier in her commended him for it. Moving erratically, rather than in a straight line, made him more difficult to hit, and was one of the most important rules in their fight against the Neuroi. It was just as his profile said: he was a prodigy and already in possession of a keen understanding of combat tactics. He had the makings of a commander and was arguably one of the most promising recruits.

Knowing this, she made sure to keep up the pressure and fired off burst after burst of suppressive fire. Eventually, she maneuvered him against the wall and spread her fire, ensuring at least some of the rounds found their target. He tried to roll out of the way and almost succeeded, but a few bullets bit into his leg and he fell, giving a ragged cry. She immediately took advantage of the opening and finished him off with another salvo, scoring her fourth kill.

Hovering, she scanned the ground for her next opportunity and spotted a young man. But much to her surprise, he was walking out into the open instead of running away. He was looking at her directly and seemed to be yelling something, but she couldn't understand him over the sound of her engines. Mildly intrigued, she descended into hearing range.

"…you! Hey, you! Come down here!"

Gertrud raised an eyebrow. Who did he think he was, ordering her around like that? She wasn't sure; his profile had been vague and incomplete. He was a Britannian Flying Officer, but that was all she knew. Still, although his behavior irked her, she decided to hold her fire and listen to what he had to say.

"That's better," he said condescendingly.

Though she had to admit, the smug look on his face made maintaining trigger discipline more difficult than anticipated.

"What?" she snapped. The man sniffed in unconcealed derision.

"You think you're all high and mighty, don't you? Well, this ends now."

Had Gertrud been a less disciplined person, she might have laughed at the absurdity of that statement. Instead she just frowned impatiently.

"Get to the point!"

He rolled his eyes. "You don't scare me, missy," A sneer curled his lips. "Not like you can touch me anyhow."

"I believe I have refuted this before," Gertrud said, referring to her first kill.

"Not like that," He let out an annoyed sigh. "Boy, you sure are barmy. Look, just land and surrender already. That's an order."

Now she did allow herself a laugh, albeit a short and incredulous one. "On what grounds? You hold no power over me."

He put his hands on his hips triumphantly. "Not directly, but my uncle does!"

"And who would that be?"

"Air Chief Marshal Trevor Maloney," The pride in his voice was unmistakable, a feeling Gertrud did not share as the information clicked.

"You're Maloney's nephew?" Any amusement she might have felt abruptly dissipated, replaced by a building fury. "His nephew?" Her voice rose with every syllable.

Eyes wide, he opened his mouth, but Gertrud rushed down at him and grabbed him by the collar, turning whatever words to follow into a squeak. She took off again, slower this time because of the extra weight, and didn't stop until they were high above the base.

The man squirmed in her steel grip all the while. "Let me go, let go!" Then he made the mistake of looking down, and all the blood drained from his face. "Bleeding hell."

Gertrud hoisted him up so they were face to face. "Your uncle," She spat out the word. "has done nothing but cause trouble for us. Why the hell would a relative of his be assigned here?" He looked at her in surprise.

"O-oh, really?" he murmured in shock. She shook him hard.

"Explain, now!"

He yelped, his limbs flailing wildly. "I don't know okay! He just said you guys were the best!"

"Hmph," Gertrud glared into the distance, unseeing as she mulled this over. "So he sent you here. As a spy, perhaps, or a saboteur. I wouldn't put it past him; he's always hated us."

"Well take that up with him then! I got nothing to do with it," he said in hysterics. "Now lemme go already!" Her eyes returned to him, cold once more. Slowly, ever so slowly, her eyes narrowed in an unsettling manner. His struggling stopped. "Uh—"

"Roger, _sir._ "

She released him. He plummeted back to the ground, screaming, and landed on the tarmac in a distant red splatter. She felt a rush of elation at the result, resolving to show Maloney the sights sometime soon as well.

 _But that will come later. First, I need to put these remaining five through their paces._

She dove back down, taking in the state of the aerodrome again. Her exchange with Maloney's nephew had taken a minute, so she was curious to see if the other participants had relocated in any way. Studying the field intently, she noticed several potatoes lying next to the supply crates. It seemed one of the recruits had finally climbed inside.

Taking in that static factor for later, Gertrud's eyes were next drawn to a solitary person running down the runway.

 _I see, she's trying to escape into the ocean. Clever..._

The aerodrome was generally too high compared to the surrounding area to jump off safely, but the runway extended beyond the land and over the sea at the very end. If the recruit reached that point, she would be able to jump off and hide among the waves. Although it was a desperate idea and prone to death due to hypothermia, it could work.

 _But it won't be enough._

A plan of attack formed in Gertrud's mind, her magic flaring up in preparation.

She descended and turned into the recruit's side, switching on the safety for her right-hand MG42. Then she reversed her grip so she was holding it by the barrel instead. Keeping her other gun close to her side, she accelerated and held her new melee weapon at the ready.

As she approached the woman in her sights, Gertrud saw her speed up. She supposed the sound of her Striker had tipped off the recruit, but that was all right; Gertrud was approaching rapidly, and she knew she would reach the target in a matter of seconds, long before her target could make her escape. The woman apparently thought the same, because she stopped running and turned to the airborne Witch, braced for evasive maneuvers.

But when Gertrud held out her reversed MG42, the recruit froze and tilted her head. It wasn't until Gertrud cocked back the gun that she seemed to realize what was about to happen. But by then it was too late.

Shining a brilliant blue, Gertrud sped past and swung, striking her target with the stock of the MG42. The sheer, bone-breaking force of the blow launched the woman off the runway. Her limp body skipped over the water thrice, flipping over every time, before she finally crashed into the sea and disappeared under the waves.

Gertrud flicked the blood off her gun and let her magical aura recede. "Homerun."

Yeager had gone to great pains to teach her that word. Gertrud still didn't think much of Liberian sports, but at least that conversation came in handy now.

Her body feeling light with adrenaline after that novel kill, she pulled up and returned to the base, eager to seek new prey. Upon arrival, she spotted one recruit beside the supply crate, yelling at the one apparently still hidden inside. The girl looked up when Gertrud approached and screamed, running away in a blind panic.

Gertrud took aim at the recruit and depressed the triggers on both of MG42s…

…only for both guns to dry-click within seconds of each other, and what few rounds they had left landed harmlessly in the ground. Gertrud scowled. She had been confident enough in her marksmanship not to pack extra ammo, as that would make it more difficult to fly, but it seemed she had let the rush of battle get to her a tad too often.

A laugh came from down below.

"Aha! That means we win, yes?" Gertrud glared down at the girl she'd failed to kill, who started cheering to herself in Suomish.

Making a note to assess this negligence on her part later, Gertrud discarded her MG42s with a tinge of remorse. They were her favorite weapons, geared towards sheer power and suppressive fire, a perfect fit for her role. And the ammo was in much better supply than the Minengeschoß of her beloved MG151/20.

Fortunately, she hadn't packed extra ammo for another reason. While the Suomish below continued to cackle and crow in victory, Gertrud reached for the device on her back.

* * *

Minna and Mio continued to watch, the window thankfully intact since they were on the third floor.

Not that it made this situation any better. Minna was on her fifth cup of super-coffee by now, and she was still exhausted. Her body and mind were heavy with the weight of the consequences that would undoubtedly follow this disaster. Consequences Minna would have to take care of, of course. It wouldn't be the first time she would have to cover for her Wing's more…eccentric behavior.

She swallowed the last of her coffee and poured a sixth cup at the thought, her mood fouling more with every passing second.

 _Verdammt Trude, you're supposed to be the calm one!_

"I've been wondering," Mio said, sounding unfittingly curious. Minna shot her a look, but it went unnoticed. "What is that thing Barkhorn has been carrying around? I don't believe I've seen it before."

Minna sighed, just as Trude hit a recruit with her weapon and sent her flying into the Britannian Channel. She winced internally, making note to send out a search party for the no doubt broken body, even as she replied to Mio.

"Indeed, I doubt you have. Even I did not recognize it at first," She swallowed, the knowledge making her feel nauseated. "It's a prototype from R&D. I have no idea how she managed to get it here; it's supposed to be in Neue Karlsland."

"I see," Mio's voice was quiet, thoughtful, but this time, Minna knew her companion was feeling about as much dread as she herself was. "What kind of weapon is it?"

At that moment, Trude dove for the Suomish recruit and activated the machine. Flames burst from the barrel in a long stream.

Mio's jaw dropped.

Minna just reached for more coffee.

* * *

Gertrud was in awe.

The Flammenwerfer 41 was truly a magnificent weapon. The steady surge of fire had enough velocity to surprise even her; she didn't think it would move that fast and with so little recoil involved. The awesome power of it was appealing to her on a curiously primal level. It was everything she had ever wanted for an arsenal, and she could very much imagine the possibilities in its application against the Neuroi.

Still, the whoosh of the flames would not feel complete without the wail of her hapless target. The recruit caught on quickly enough to start fleeing again, preventing her immediate incineration, but Gertrud pursued her relentlessly, flying low and leaving molten tarmac in her wake. They moved back and forth across the area until Gertrud, having analyzed the recruit's haphazard patterns, adjusted her flight path and caught the girl from the side. The fire engulfed her completely, leaving an unidentifiable mess behind.

Supremely content with the prototype's performance, Gertrud turned menacingly to a target she had been eyeing the entire time. She hadn't seen this particular enlistee emerge from the crate since disappearing inside, so he had to be in there still.

 _How shameful, hiding away during a battle,_ She scoffed at the thought of it. _Even if you have lost your memories, this behavior ill suits a soldier._

She unbuckled the Flammenwerfer 41's belt and removed it from her back, looping her arm under the thing and gripping the shoulder straps. It was over twice the weight of an MG42 and cumbersome to hold, so she activated her strengthening magic again, reinforcing her muscles so she could easily control the flamethrower with one hand.

Satisfied with her grip, she aimed the long nozzle at the supply crate and pressed the activation button on the remote. That glorious, roiling stream of fire spewed forth again, engulfing the crate and setting it alight.

When the heat penetrated the outer layer, a muffled howl of alarm came from inside, confirming Gertrud's suspicions. It was a matter of seconds before the cries went silent. Nevertheless, she kept the button depressed until she was certain there was nothing left but a mishmash of molten wood, blackened potatoes and charred recruit.

"Unbelievable."

Gertrud whirled around to face the ninth enlistee. Standing out in the open, arms crossed and stance wide, was a woman around Gertrud's age, with fair hair and eyes. A frown adorned the recruit's face.

"I didn't think you'd resort to _grilling_ them. What's your fucking problem?"

Rage burned deep in Gertrud's veins at the question. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Have you gone off the deep end or something? Look around!" The recruit gestured to their surroundings. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I think I do. I've been there," The recruit spoke deliberately, despite the matching fury in her body language. "When Ostmark fell, I saw her burn and defiled by those Neuroi bastards. It was horrible."

 _Seriously?_ Gertrud gave the woman a flat stare; this was hardly the time for a story. But much to her frustration, her not-so-subtle display of not caring went unnoticed.

"My home was gone, maybe forever! I lost everything I held dear," The recruit's arms went to her sides, her shoulders and fists shaking. "After that, I lived for nothing but vengeance. I wanted—no, needed—to take down every last one of them," The woman turned away, casting her angry glare at the ocean.

Seeing the opening, Gertrud aimed her flamethrower and fired. Unfortunately, there was no response from the machine besides some sputtering and the grinding of metal. Her face fell in disbelief.

 _What in the…_ It couldn't be out of fuel yet. Was it malfunctioning? She tried again, only to get the same result. _No, no, no!_

Meanwhile, the recruit in front of her continued to speak, seemingly unaware or perhaps uncaring of the danger.

"I was so consumed by anger and hatred, I couldn't think of anything else," She looked down sadly. "I pulled away from my family and friends, stopped acting like I used to. I killed many Neuroi, but I hurt myself and those around me even more."

Gertrud lifted the weapon a bit more and looked at the various gauges at the back of the device, trying to figure out what was wrong. Not that she had any success; she was notoriously bad with non-magical machinery, not to mention experimental prototypes. Clueless, she poked the display of one indicator and jumped when that made the needle move violently.

When the flamethrower thankfully didn't explode in her face, she grit her teeth in frustration.

 _Scheiße! Why does this always happen?_ She glanced up and her eyebrow twitched. The recruit was still doing her monologue.

"It took me years, and a lot of effort from my loved ones, to see how wrong I was. Eventually I realized I wasn't being strong at all. I was just running away from my grief," The enlistee sighed and turned back to Gertrud, giving her a sympathetic smile. "See? You're not alone."

 _That presumptuous— she thinks she has me pegged?_ Gertrud looked back down at the Flammenwerfer 41 again, resignation filling her. _Such a pity._

The recruit started walking towards her. "You understand now, don't you? You don't have to deal with your feelings like this," She stopped a short ways away and held out her hand. "So just put that down, and talk it out with your friends. I'm sure they'll understand."

After a moment of silence, Gertrud nodded. "I know they do," She set down her weapon, gripping the straps with both hands now. "You see…" She looked up, determined. "I got over that weeks ago."

She tensed her muscles and threw the flamethrower at the recruit. Nearly twenty-nine kilograms of steel slammed into the woman, knocking her over and trapping her under its weight. For good measure, Gertrud flew up, unslung her remaining Panzerfaust, and launched it at the prototype. The machine went up in a ball of fire, projecting so much heat that Gertrud felt compelled to shield just in case.

Once the explosion died down, she looked around for her final mark. The sound of slow clapping reached her ears and she glanced at the other end of the aerodrome, near where she had blown up that truck in the early minutes of the engagement. There, she spotted a man striding out into the open. She recognized him; he was the oldest of the recruits and the most experienced. His rank also equaled hers.

"Well done, well done," He chuckled, still applauding her. "That was quite a display, Barkhorn. I cannot wait to join you in battle."

"That's Flight Lieutenant to you. And what makes you think you will be fighting in this squadron?" Gertrud descended, hovering at ground level, and searched his eyes for a bluff she knew she wouldn't find.

As expected, he held her gaze confidently. "Haven't I proven myself? I am the last man standing."

She shook her head in disapproval. "You survived by concealing yourself in the smoke, hiding while your comrades fell around you. That is just the kind of dishonorable behavior I would expect from a mercenary."

He shrugged. "And what use would my help have been? You would have killed me along with the rest of them," He smiled callously. "No, it was best to watch, and wait until you ran out of weaponry."

Gertrud forced herself to remain calm, even as her very being recoiled against the thought of such a tactic. It was unethical, underhanded, and completely useless against the Neuroi. The only reason for its existence was to safeguard his survival, even if that came at the cost of the lives of countless others. She would not let that stand.

"Don't count me out just yet," she said steadily, and flexed her fingers. "I can kill you from up close just as well."

"I was hoping you would say that," He smirked and took off his uniform jacket, revealing a black shirt with a lean, yet muscular, frame underneath. A few deep, aged scars lined his right arm, tracing his tanned skin. "Go, get yourself ready. I'll be waiting."

She decided not to honor his condescension with a reply and hovered over to her launch unit to dismount, letting her magic recede. When she finished putting on her combat boots and approached her opponent again, she was struck with a strange sense of familiarity. It felt like this had happened before, and there was something about it that made her blood boil, almost as much as the thought of Neuroi did.

But she put that thought to the side when the recruit raised his fists. He gestured invitingly with his chin, that infuriating sneer still there.

"Go ahead Barkhorn, throw the first punch."

Gertrud cracked her knuckles with a stern look. "Gladly."

She pushed off with her left foot and charged, aiming a right hook at his face. He dodged to her left and followed up with a jab to the back of her neck, which she blocked. Moving quickly, he grabbed her wrist and attempted to wrestle her into a hold, but she turned into his grip to counter, attempting a strike at his celiac plexus. He moved out of the way just in time, turning it into a grazing blow instead, and backed off.

She did the same, watching him carefully even as she steadied her own stance. He was strong and agile, matching her blow for blow, just like she had expected. Their strength was closely matched, and he had an advantage on her in the weight category, although her innate power compensated for that gap. Still, she knew there would be no overpowering him, and he wouldn't be intimidated into a mistake. It fell to her to outwit him somehow.

He was the one who attacked first this time, going low and attempting to throw off her balance with a surprisingly fast kick to the shins. The blow hit, but she was strong enough to remain standing and maintained her distance. As she circled and strafed, studying him, he decided to continue his offense with a series of punches and kicks, each as calculated as the first, and varied enough to keep her guessing as to what his next move was.

Finally she saw an opportunity and parried one of his blows at her face. It sent his fist sailing uselessly past her. Momentum propelled him forward while she moved into him, catching him in the abdomen with her knee. For the first time he grunted in discomfort, and visibly flinched at the full extent of her strength. Following up on the stun, she grabbed him by the shoulder and hooked his leg, sending him to the ground. She made to press her advantage with a stomp to his sternum, but he rolled out of the way and was on his feet in an instant.

Caught off-guard for a split second, she was wide open to a powerful roundhouse kick in the side. Stumbling away, she settled into a defensive stance, gritting her teeth in frustration and at the smarting pain in her ribs. They were pretty even, but he was nowhere near defeated, and this fact was wearing on her self-control. The need to take him down was burning hot in her mind.

Perhaps she was failing to keep her outward composure because of it, because he chuckled.

"Is that all? I was expecting more from one of the world's most respected aces."

"We're not done yet," she growled, hearing the anger in her voice. _Easy, Gertrud…_ she chastised herself. _A calm mind can be the difference between life and death._

"I disagree," He crossed his arms, looking like he had already won. "It's obvious you cannot best me. Dragging out our duel will only lead to your downfall."

At the word "duel", Gertrud's eyes widened in sudden recognition. She remembered many instances similar to this, matches in single combat that so often ended in her defeat, no matter how hard she trained or how well she flew. This was not the only pattern that had stirred her into a frenzied revenge, but it was undoubtedly one of the most infuriating ones. It had to stop. She would make it stop.

The burn intensified and she saw red. Letting out a snarl more animalistic than a regular human could manage, she charged her opponent again, her tightly clenched fists almost resembling claws from the way her fingers twitched.

He snorted in disdain and intercepted her first two punches, scoring a good hit on her cheek in return—only for his face to morph into surprise when she didn't react, too charged with bloodlust to care. It was the opening she needed. Her fist came up and finally found that celiac plexus, hitting it at full power. He staggered back and keeled over, gasping and retching, and she promptly gave him an uppercut in the face, breaking his nose with a wet snap. The man howled with pain this time and blindly tried to fight back, but his strikes were sloppy, crippled shadows of their former selves.

After a few more spiteful hits to his head, she decided to go in for the kill. One more kick to the back of his knees was enough to bring him crashing down; he landed hard on his spine, coughing weakly as blood ran from his busted nose in messy dark rivulets.

The red drained from Gertrud's vision, her anger back under her skin where it belonged. She breathed in and out a few times, cursing her temper, but she couldn't deny the feeling of vindication as she eyed the downed man at her feet.

"It's over," she said coldly. He growled back at her in contempt, even as he nursed his broken nose.

"You bitch! That…that was…mere luck!" He gasped for breath, still winded. "Next time, I'll—"

"There won't be a next time," Gertrud pulled out a weapon he'd forgotten: her Walther PPK handgun, issued to her by the Britannian military upon the formation of the 501st Joint Fighter Wing. Without any further words, she flicked off the safety and finished him off with one bullet.

Once the report of her shot faded into the distance, she was left with nothing but the silence of victory. Still, she didn't relish in it; there was one more thing she had to take care of.

* * *

The door to Minna's office was kicked in violently, torn from its hinges by Gertrud's magic-enhanced strength. The door flew two feet before it fell forward, the end landing on Minna's desk and smashing a lamp. Minna and Sakamoto turned to face her amid a flurry of displaced paperwork, the latter's face looking especially furious.

"Barkhorn!" Sakamoto was still in her usual stance, hands clasped behind her back, but her voice was livid. "You crazy woman! What were you thinking? You'll be lucky not to get shot for this!"

"Sakamoto," Gertrud said balefully, forgoing her usual respect for the Squadron Leader. She returned the glare and stepped into the room, her familiar already out, and her magical aura shimmering into existence. "I knew I would find you here."

Sakamoto's frown deepened. "Don't change the subject—"

"Shut up!" Sakamoto fell silent at the insubordination, her mouth drawn in a thin line. Gertrud stalked closer, shaking all over in poorly concealed rage. "Every time. Every time I see Minna, you're right there at her side. I'm here to stop it. I'm going to stop you like I stopped the rest of them!"

Gertrud's magic became entirely visible, powerful and volatile, nearly rolling off her in bright waves. In three large steps, she closed the distance between the two of them and grabbed two fistfuls of Sakamoto's Imperial Navy jacket. Sakamoto struggled, bringing out her familiar as well, but Gertrud's enhanced strength prevented her from breaking free.

"What are you—unhand me this very instant!"

"I am going to put you back in your place!" Gertrud roared, clearly heard even though their magical auras clashed with a powerful crackle. She lifted Sakamoto and, concentrating all of her strength, rammed the other woman through the window.

Well, that was what she intended to do. Anger, adrenaline and a deeply rooted desire combined to impair her aim, enough to make her miss the intended target. Instead of the window, Sakamoto was thrust bodily through the brick wall next to it, leaving a considerable hole in her wake.

Gertrud was left heaving and trembling with an adrenaline rush so powerful that she felt faint for a moment. Once she settled down, she stared in mild surprise at her accomplishment. Leaning forward, she looked down and saw Sakamoto's crumpled body in some rose bushes, unmoving. She nodded in satisfaction.

As if in response to her feelings, a pleasant breeze picked up and caressed her face, tickling her hair and animal features. A sigh left her lips at the peaceful feeling. There was a rustle of cloth behind her, one that could only belong to one person.

"Minna," she began softly, "All of this must seem irrational to you. But I know you will understand once I explain," Smiling, she turned around. "Rest assured, a great wrong has been—"

She yelped when a hand roughly took hold of her collar, the fabric tightening around her neck like a noose. Gertrud followed the hand to its source and gulped.

Minna's familiar was out and her magical aura was shining in full force. Her entire body was shaking and her eyes were twitching, the pupils dilated with undisguised wrath. Her right hand was aiming her own Walther PPK at Gertrud's face, the finger trembling dangerously close to the trigger. She was clutching the firearm so tightly that her fingers were actually denting the grip.

It was the most incensed Gertrud had ever seen her. She was terrified.

"Flight Lieutenant Gertrud Barkhorn," Minna's voice held none of its usual warmth. Gertrud trembled feebly.

"An unauthorized sortie. Unsanctioned use of firearms on base. Multiple accounts of insubordination. Assault on a superior officer. Theft and destruction of a classified Karlslander prototype. The murder of ten recruits."

Her ears and tail drooped more with every sentence.

"These are very grave offenses. As the only judicial officer in this squadron, I ask you this: Do you wish for a court-martial to be convened?"

She couldn't speak, paralyzed to the bone with fear.

"From your lack of response, I conclude that you do not wish for a court martial to be convened."

Minna's grip on her collar tightened even more. Gertrud whimpered, her tail ducking between her legs.

* * *

Folkestone, 501st Joint Fighter Wing base, bunker.

Silence reigned. Letting out yet another yawn, Erica picked at a fleck of paint that was starting to come off; although it was new, the bunker had been commissioned and designed hastily. There were bound to be some minor compromises. At least they were safe in here, although Erica still wished she could've spent the past hour in her room; sleeping was impossible when most of the squadron was here too.

Speaking of which, at that moment their youngest member saw fit to break the silence with a whine.

"I'm bored!" Lucchini shifted around restlessly. She'd settled down at first, mostly due to Shirley's influence, but the time spent in here was driving all of them up the wall. "What's the big idea, anyway? Sitting in here is just stupid!"

"Shh, just calm down," Shirley said warmly. "I dunno what's going on, but they must've had a good reason. It could even be some sort of test," She rubbed the excitable girl's head in an attempt to comfort her. Lucchini just groaned and settled for pouting at the entrance. A harrumph moved everyone's attention to Perrine.

"I agree with Lucchini for once," she said, sitting primly as usual, but looking decidedly ticked off. "I, for one, find this situation appalling. Ordering us in here with nary an explanation…it defies belief!"

Erica rolled her eyes. Even in a foreign language, the Gallian managed to sound like a pompous stick-in-the-mud. Maybe it was time to make her loosen up a little again. Erica did like riling her up, after all. But she decided to leave it to impulse; planning it would just suck the fun out of it.

A groan from Eila echoed her sentiments.

"Come off it, Four-Eyes. You're just upset the Squadron Leader isn't in here with you."

"What did you say!" Perrine screeched, turning red; Erica didn't know if it was from anger or embarrassment. "You insolent little—" She sputtered incoherently, too frazzled to come up with more insults. Eila just glared back nastily, until a tug on her sleeve made her look over.

"Eila," Sanya said sleepily. "Don't antagonize Perrine."

"But—"

"Apologize," Although Sanya's voice was soft and as lacking in presence as she herself was, it still held a strong will and genuine concern, enough to make her influence palpable. In the face of that, Eila could only duck her head and relent.

"Sorry, F—Perrine," she said reluctantly. Sanya gave her a little nudge and she sighed. "I'm just...annoyed about being cooped in here. Night shift and all," Perrine coughed uneasily and brushed some imaginary lint off her shoulder.

"Yes, well…I understand, I suppose. Our current predicament has everyone guessing."

Everyone nodded and went silent again, until Lynne shifted and gave them a careful smile.

"I'm sure everything will be back to normal soon. Right, everyone?" A general noise of agreement floated through the bunker, some of them returning her smile. Lynne seemed to perk up a little at that, and Yoshika gave her an encouraging look.

Suddenly Eila looked up at the entrance, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by the others. A moment later, there was a clang and the door opened, revealing a stream of natural light and a figure. Minna stood at the top of the stairs, looking calm, composed, and utterly intimidating.

"You can all come out now," she said smoothly.

Erica frowned slightly; she'd worked with Minna long enough to know her habits. A visibly angry Minna was frightening, but relatively harmless. That was the Minna they usually saw: a kind, caring commander who worried about her friends and wanted nothing more than to see them safe.

But a calm, cold Minna, with that voice, was trouble. She didn't get like this unless someone had messed up big-time. And Erica had a pretty good idea of who that was this time around.

Yoshika stretched and beamed up at Minna. "Thank you, Commander Minna!" She nearly skipped up the steps. "What time is it? It feels like we were in here for a while…"

Minna didn't reply; Yoshika took it in stride and continued to babble. Erica just ran a hand over her face. Miyafuji was a nice girl and Erica liked her a lot, but she could be unbelievably naïve at times. The others climbed the stairs without saying much, obviously noticing something was wrong. Once the group was outside, Minna requested their attention.

"Everyone, if you would all please follow me."

They did, some with more apprehension than others. Yoshika, still oblivious, was talking happily to a nervous Lynne about lunch, but Erica could tell everyone else's eyes were on her: silently asking, wondering what was going on with her friend. For her part, Erica kept her face impassive, not in the mood to explain. She was sure Trude's little stunt, whatever it was, was going to be a huge pain.

Minna led them to the airfield. Erica sighed. It was just like Trude to cause rampant destruction.

"Mon dieu," Perrine whispered in awe, the others reacting in much the same way.

The air field was in shambles. The army truck off to the side was a smoldering wreck, while there was a huge burn mark at the other end. There were several black lines in the tarmac where the material had melted, a few craters, and splatters of blood and bodies spread around. In the middle of it all, Trude's Striker sat in its launch unit, both conspicuously pristine. Yep, this really was a pain.

A gasp broke through the group's mutterings.

"Sakamoto-san!"

Yoshika ran to an immobile form at the entrance to the hangar. Erica walked over and saw it really was the Squadron Leader, although she'd never seen Sakamoto in this state.

 _Whoa…did Trude do this too? That's crazy._

Their superior officer was covered in bruises and cuts everywhere, her eyepatch was missing, and she was covered in a fine layer of white dust. Erica had to admit she was impressed; she never expected Trude's handiwork to extend to Sakamoto. Yoshika got on her knees next to the woman and started healing her immediately.

"Thank you, Miyafuji," Minna's voice regained some warmth, but Erica still didn't dare speak to her.

"Uh…Wing Commander?" Shirley's voice came from somewhere else, sounding uncharacteristically unsettled. Erica turned around and immediately spotted what the other was pointing at.

There was Trude, lying face-down on the tarmac in front of the car. Upon closer inspection, she wasn't nearly as intact as the vehicle was. Her uniform jacket was torn, with a sleeve nearly ripped off, and one of her shoulder boards was missing. Like Sakamoto, she had multiple bruises and lacerations on her body, with glass sticking out of some of her wounds.

Her familiar features were still out, but they were crooked, as if she'd been manhandled. One of her hair ribbons was missing too, leaving her hair to fan out wildly, and the remaining tail was half-undone. Finally, her positioning indicated she might have been rear-ended by the car; Erica didn't have to guess who the perpetrator was.

Shirley let out a low whistle as Erica came to stand next to her.

"She's pretty banged up," the Liberian said. Erica just nodded, giving Trude's leg an experimental poke with her foot. There was no response. "I wonder what happened here," Erica shrugged. Shirley turned to look at her. "This anything to do with our new bunker? I remember you said your sister helped design it."

"She did. Ursula's good with stuff like that," Erica looked around lazily, her arms behind her head. She spotted a black mess that had probably been their new supply of potatoes. Silently, she mourned their passing. "We thought it'd come in handy. Some of my friends are weird…"

Now Shirley let out a short bark of a laugh.

"Yeah, Barkhorn sure is!"

At that moment, Yoshika came rushing past them, ready to heal the Flight Lieutenant.

"Miyafuji," Minna's wintry voice rang out as she joined them. "I've tasked Lynne with readying lunch. Please join her."

"Eh?" Yoshika, and Shirley as well, gave her a confused look. "But, Barkhorn-san is…"

"Don't worry about her," Minna cut in smoothly. "She's tough, and I'm sure she will appreciate the time spent in the infirmary."

That last sentence sounded especially icy, although Erica had to snicker quietly at the thought of Trude being stuck in the sick ward. She hated that more than anything.

Meanwhile, Yoshika became quiet and finally seemed to notice Minna's disposition, judging from the way her familiar ears suddenly flattened in apprehension. Lynne stepped in to steer Yoshika away towards the hangar.

"It's okay, Yoshika-chan. Let's go," she urged gently, avoiding eye contact with the Wing Commander. Once the two of them were heading off, Minna turned to the others. Eila cleared her throat carefully.

"Wing Commander, permission to get back to our rooms? Sanya and I still need to rest up for night shift."

Minna nodded. "Of course, go right ahead."

"Wait," Sanya said from behind Eila, looking concerned. "We should help—"

"Shh Sanya, I know, I know," Eila replied quietly. "Just not now. Come on," Sanya looked like she was about to object, but when she caught sight of Minna's eyes, she promptly agreed with her friend and the two of them left as well.

An unfaltering Minna addressed the others.

"Shirley, I need your help with filing some paperwork. We have to report all the damage and…" She uttered a long-suffering sigh. "…order a new window. Oh, Perrine?" And now Minna actually looked a little mournful. "I'm afraid some of your rose bushes need tending to. The ones situated under my office, specifically," Perrine gasped in horror and rushed off. "The rest of you are dismissed."

Everyone hesitantly agreed and most of them went on their ways, Minna with a stirring Sakamoto in tow. Shirley turned to Erica, her eyes wide.

"Geez, she's terrifying!" she whispered. Erica just gave her a deadpan stare.

"Told you. Some of my friends are weird."


End file.
